On Fire
by TraceZBullet
Summary: Nick's house catches on fire and Catherine offers him a place to sleep. What's a man to do? Rating for language, some sensuality.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** My first CatNick, please review...Yeah, go CatNickers!

**Disclamer:** I own nobody in the story, but if I did, this is what would happen:

**On Fire**

Tendrils of smoke crept silently through the house and slid under doorways unnoticed as Nick slept. Subconsciously, he must have smelled it– he twisted fitfully in his sleep– but his mind was unable to connect the smell with alarm bells loud enough to wake him up. Tongues of fire began to lick the door to the basement, crackling menacingly. Unaware, he slumbered on.

Next door, a little boy was unable to sleep. He was wrapped around a huge German Shepherd but she was struggling in his embrace. "Mila!" the little boy protested, "Stop, girl!" She whined and woofed quietly. The little boy unwrapped his arms and let her go. She immediately leapt off the bed and raced down the hall, claws clacking against the laminate surface. She barked; startlingly loud this time. The sleepy father looked out the window. His wife grabbed the phone at his shout. Soon, sirens wailed in the distance.

Catherine couldn't sleep. She sat in the dark, still wearing a t-shirt and rocking back and forth with her knees to her chest. She didn't know why: she was off, having just pulled a triple with Nick and Warrick, she was tired, her eyes hurt, hell, everything hurt. Lindsay was at a friends for the weekend. Her mother was downstairs, sleeping quietly on the couch. Nothing more would be demanded of her for two straight days. Finally, Catherine closed her eyes. Suddenly, her pager beeped shrilly. She sleepily turned on the light. And grasped around; eyesight blurry. She read the message: _Fire at Nick's. _

In an instant she shot out of bed, pulled on some jeans, and raced to the garage.

Minutes later, Nick sat up on a stretcher, still half asleep. He yelled in surprise and instinctively reached for where his night table would have been, searching for a gun. "Sir," one of the firemen said, as the stretcher continued to move down to the street, "Sir, sit back," and the other fireman applied pressure to Nick's chest, forcing him back down. Nick looked around. Everything had a reddish glow, men were shouting. Water vapor clung to the air. So did heat. It came from the direction of his house in sickly waves. _Oh God, a fire?_

Just as the fireman stopped the stretcher at the bottom of the long driveway, a black SUV pulled up. The door clicked open and Catherine appeared. Nick sat up again. "Nick!" she called as she ran towards him, worry tinging her voice, "Nicky," she said again as she got nearer. She was out of breath and it wasn't from running. She was worried about him. "Thank God you're all right," she said breathlessly and put her arms around him.

Over her shoulder, he could now see the full extent of the fire damage to his house. It was still blazing, heating up the night. Fire lapped the midnight sky. It was gone. It was all gone. His photo albums, his clothes, his kit, the files he had brought home to review, all were turned in to ashes without him noticing. She squeezed him harder as if sensing his dismay. He laughed into her ear. "What?" she asked, pulling away slightly, to look him in his deep brown eyes.

"It was almost worth getting my house burnt down for this," he teased. The deep brown eyes danced.

"Almost?" she asked with mock shock. The fire behind her made her hair seem even more silky, her piercing blue eyes even more luminous. Suddenly, he felt the mood between them change. He was suddenly stroking her back, breathing a little faster. She gave a coy smile and fingered the edge of his shirt. A paramedic appeared behind Catherine.

"Ma'am," he said, "I'm going to need to ask you to step away for a second while we check Mr. Stokes out for lung damage. Catherine obligingly stepped away. Nick let out an involuntary wince as the cool stethoscope made contact with his chest. Catherine smiled mischievously and licked her lips. Nick suddenly found it very hard to breathe.

"Mr. Stokes," the paramedic chided, unaware of what Catherine was doing just over his shoulder, "I need you to breathe _deeply_."

"Oh, yeah," Nick said absently and concentrated intently on taking deep breaths and looking _anywhere_ but at the woman standing, arms crossed, on the sidewalk. Then he realized he was only wearing a shirt and a pair of boxers. Internally, he groaned. All of his clothes had been burnt.

Catherine smiled impishly to herself, it was time for a little fun. Nick's face was amusingly pink. Shortly, the paramedic slid Nick's shirt back down and stepped away. "Everything looks all right but you'll need somewhere to go," the man observed.

Catherine jumped right in, "He can stay with me." Nick's face turned a darker shade of pink. The paramedic looked from Catherine to Nick and winked, giving the thumbs-up as he left. Nick groaned but slid to a standing position before Catherine.

Nick looked at his hands, embarrassed. When he looked up, Catherine had disappeared behind the Tahoe, rummaging through the trunk. She noticed him watching her and held up a pair of pants. He thanked her and put them on, he was beyond embarrassment. He turned away to look back at the smoldering ruins of his flat.

"I can't believe it's all–" he choked on the word, "gone..."

"No, no, no," Catherine said as she propelled him towards the car, "the nice firemen saved the most important thing in that house." She challenged him, with her eyes, to ask "what?"

Instead, he replied with a tease of his own, "Good thing they were nice firemen, huh." And he gave his best cocky smile.

"Yeah, good thing, otherwise they would have probably rescued all that extra money you have lying around instead," she agreed evilly. She opened the passenger side door and playfully shoved him in, her hand lingering an instant longer on his lower back. Then, with a quirky smile, she slammed the door shut.

Nick blew air out, in a sigh. Damn, she was hot. Maybe this night wouldn't be all bad, after all.

They pulled into the driveway, neither having said a word the entire trip. Even so, adrenaline was still rushing through Nick and ashamedly, he wondered if Catherine had even noticed. She turned the engine off but didn't move to take the keys out of the ignition. Nick turned to her and touched her shoulder in a gesture of thanks.

They both spoke at once.

"Nick, I–"

"I wanted–"

They both halted. Nick nodded at her to continue and swallowed. She began again, hesitantly, "I-I just wanted to say that I know there's something kind of– what I mean is, there's chemistry between us. And I care about you. I guess I was wondering if there could be both?"

Nick was taken aback. Wow. She had bared herself for him. He wasn't imagining it. Tonight he was going to sleep at her house. He was still touching her. A million little facts swamped him. He eyed her, distant and pensive. "Uh, Nick." She broke into his thoughts. "You're groping my shoulder." Nick snapped back to the present, to her. His hand seemingly had a life of it's own. It was caressing her shoulder, where it rested.

He snapped his hand away, as if burned. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized frantically.

"No, no, my shoulder doesn't mind. I was only wondering if you knew." And with that, she opened her door and hopped out. Nick did likewise and joined her at her doorstep: suddenly curious about what her house looked like inside. He noticed she hadn't commented on his lack of response. Instead, she ushered him through the door. He looked around the living room and his eyes rested on the couch. At that moment, Catherine remembered and clamped a hand over Nick's mouth before he could shout. "Shh, it's okay, it's my mother," she whispered. He nodded. She took her hand away.

They crept upstairs and down the hall, only daring to make a sound once she had shut her bedroom door. "Okay," she said, voice within normal range now, "which side of the bed do you want?"

"Wh-what?" Nick said incredulously. His pulse-rate shot up.

Catherine calmly placed a pillow on the middle of the bed.

"Oh," he said bluntly. Catherine noticed a hint of disappointment in his voice to her great amusement. "Are you sure this is a good idea? Your mother is downstairs..." he poured out.

"Why does it matter? We're just sleeping, we're adults," Catherine pointed out.

Nick blushed. He struggled to say something, _anything._ Eventually, she decided to help him out. "Just _try _to contain yourself, okay Cowboy?" she teased gently. At once, the awkwardness was over and Nick laughed. He pulled off his loaned pants and pulled back the covers. Catherine disappeared around the corner into her bathroom.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a few seconds before taking off her jeans and t-shirt and putting on a slinky silk nightgown over her lacy underwear. It came midway down her thigh and was quite flattering to her figure. She tousled her hair with her fingers and returned to the bedroom.

Nick had propped himself up on "his" side. His breath caught as she entered and his chest tightened. She was any teenage boy's wet dream come true. The silk night gown clung to her hips, accentuating her breasts and brushed her long legs with a soft whispering sound as she walked. It was a bright red color which made her cream-colored skin stand out even more. His eyes were drawn to her lips which were wet and full, the same color as her red nightie. "Damn!" he exclaimed, and whistled softly. She ruffled his hair as she slid into bed next to him and clicked off the light.

"Good night to you, too," she said in the darkness, smiling.

He was glad he couldn't see her over the pillow and gradually, his arousal subsided and he slept.

Catherine awoke to lips on the back of her neck. She felt a jolt of fear before she realized it was Nick, and he was probably still asleep. His lips moved down to the hollow where her neck and shoulder connected. He was pressed up against her, the pillow barrier lost sometime in the night. "Catherine," he moaned, in his dreams. It amused her to know that he dreamed about kissing her. Wait, he _was_ still asleep, right?

She twisted slightly, not wanting to stop him, and sure enough, his eyes were closed. She settled back down and he sleepily put an arm around her. She wondered how much longer she should allow him to contin– his hand stroked her thigh and hitched up her nightie. All possibility of thought ceased. His thumb made a soft, circular motion against her leg, inching upward. His rough hands felt so good, she realized she had wanted to feel his hands on her body for a very long time. Then he pressed himself closer to her and she felt his need. Oh. Men got aroused in their sleep? She started to smile before she remembered her mother. Shit. _Okay, buddy, sleepy-time's over, _she thought. "Nicky," she said softly, in an effort to wake him. He groaned and pressed himself to her harder.

"Catherine," he said again, evidently thinking her voice was part of the dream. His hand cruised higher. He fingered the waist-band of her panties.

"Nick!" she almost squealed and shot out of bed. He moaned and rolled over, falling back into deeper sleep. He looked so innocent now, as if the frightfully arousing moment couldn't have been caused by him. She took a second to examine him. His eyelashes were long and dark, his face almost boyish, but also so grown up, dependable. She liked the way he had his hair, longer. It covered some of his face and stuck up in several directions. She approached him again, this time warily: irrationally worried he would pull her down on top of him. Gently, she smoothed his hair and kissed his cheek. He chose that moment to wake up.

He was still in that fuzzy state between sleep and awareness. He thought he was awake, but– Real-Life Catherine wouldn't be kissing him, right? She sure smelled real though.

"Hello, Sleeping Beauty," she said.

"Hey, I thought I asked for a _real_ prince."

"Mmm, that's Your Highness, to you," she murmured. Her lips were right there, asking, begging to be touched.

"The real prince would have coffee," he insisted, pouting.

"What I've got is much better than coffee, Nicky," she replied sultrily.

"Noth-" She silenced him with her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**Criminal Tendencies**

Nick had always been a go-with-the-flow kind of guy but right now, the flow was going right off a cliff he wasn't sure he wanted to go over. Well, he wanted to go over it, but now was not a good time. Breaking off the kiss, he back paddled quickly. "Woa, woa, woa, Catherine, your mother is downstairs, we can't do this," he cautioned.

"You didn't seem so eager to stop a few minutes ago," she pouted. Even the memory of his hands on her bare skin gave her chills. He propped himself up on his elbows.

"Look, another thing, did I miss something?" he asked, voicing a question that was nagging him. "Because last night, you put a pillow between us and this morning–" he wasn't sure how to go on.

Catherine explained, "Yeah, I, uh, woke up and you were kissing my neck. I think you were sleeping."

Nick flushed a deep, very embarrassed, red. He coughed, "That was–real?"

Catherine nodded and the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. With some satisfaction, she also noticed his ears were pink. _Yep, must have been a pretty good dream, eh, Nicky?_ "...And it made me realize, I want you and you want me and no one gives a damn– so why the hell not?" Catherine continued. Nick forgot any response he was going to put in as she leaned closer and he was captured by her eyes. Unblinkingly, she stared into him, almost _through_ him. He could see his passion and his want reflected back in hers. Delicately, her hands slid under his shirt and made fleeting contact. His skin prickled. His hands lightly caressed the backs of her thighs, gooseflesh popped up under his touch. She settled her full weight on top of him; the sudden full contact, even through their clothing, set off an explosion of excitement in both of them. He gave in and kissed her lips.

Catherine's lips had the texture of flower petals but she responded to him with such ferocious intensity, it almost hurt to kiss them. His hands skimmed upward, missing the place she most wanted him to touch her and grazing her buttocks. He hitched up her nightie to finger the hollow just above her tail bone. Neither made a sound, the silence was both exciting, and a reminder of the danger they were in. She gasped into his mouth instead. His tongue tentatively touched hers. A moan caught in both of their throats. She traced a nail back down over his abdomen and stopped at his waistband. One finger slid through. She opened her eyes to see his reaction. His eyes popped open and his hands stopped moving.

Frustrated, Catherine broke the kiss. They both sighed in disappointment.

He cleared his throat. "I want this as much as you do, but we can't– not while we're not alone," he implored.

"I can be very quiet," she promised, giving a Cheshire cat grin. She slid her finger out of his waistband and placed her hand quietly back on his chest. His face fell, he was being pulled in two very different directions– his head, and his desires. "Fine," she conceded. After a while, "How about we just keep it to groping and kissing?" she asked hopefully. But they both knew where that would lead.

"I'm sorry, Cath," he apologized woefully.

"What're you apologizing for? It's not your fault! If anybody's, it's mine!" she said indignantly.

She held up a hand as Nick tried to protest.

"Hell, I just got so caught up in the fact that we've waited so long, I didn't want to wait another minute!" Nick sighed, he felt the same way. Just the thought of her flesh quivering with desire under his hands was painfully taunting him.

She curled herself into the crook of his shoulder and whispered fervently, "God, Nick, I really want you." He summoned a reply, then the phone rang. Catherine didn't move.

"Well," Nick said, after two more rings, "aren't you going to answer that?"

"Don't want to," she said into his shirt.

"Why not?"

"It's Grissom," she replied, voice muffled.

"Oh...wait, how do you know?" Nick asked confused.

"He's the only person I know who is so socially inept, he calls before eight."

Nick chuckled. She rolled her eyes. Nick suddenly pulled his hand from his side, reached over, and tickled her. She squeaked and was about to retaliate– the phone rang insistently. "Fine!" Catherine snapped and snatched the phone from it's cradle on the bed-side table. "Hey Gil," she answered. She rolled her eyes at Nick.

"Hello, Catherine?" came the question from the other end of the line.

"No," she said sarcastically.

"Sorry, you and Lindsay sound so alike these days," he explained.

"Before you ask, I'm _not_ coming in today," Catherine said preemptively.

"That's not why I was calling," Grissom said, "It's about the fire."

Nick listened intently. He leaned forward to but his chin on her shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose.

"It's been ruled an arson." Catherine and Nick raised eyebrows at each other.

"Wow," was all Catherine could say.

"Yeah, any way, do you know where I can reach Nick?" Grissom asked.

"Uh," Catherine began awkwardly, "He's staying here." She could almost hear Gil rolling his eyes. Nick gave a roguish grin and his hand inched down her hip. "Nick!" she squealed, "Not now!" She could see Grissom massage his temple. A dry grin spread across her face. Nick admired how the playful look made her face even more perfect. As if reading his thoughts, she looked away.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, he'll be kept updated, I trust."

"Of course."

"Uh, goodbye then."

"Bye." Almost as soon as she hung up, she feigned annoyance and turned to Nick. "I can't believe you did that!" she said, collapsing into laughter and grabbing a pillow. She began to thump him with it saying in gasps between playful blows, "He's...your...boss!" He hid from her attack under another pillow. He breathed deeply, enjoying the smell of her perfume that was embedded in the sheets. She gave him one last whack for good measure and then he felt her get up. Cautiously, he looked out, just in time for the pillow to land in front of him, pillowcase brushing his cheek.

An instant later, she fell on him, giggling. With a roar, he wrapped her in his arms. She shushed him and worriedly looked over her shoulder expecting her mother to call up at any second. They were both silent and motionless for an instant but there was no noise from downstairs. Nick rolled over, pinning Catherine to the bed. Their lips mashed together greedily. He buried his hands in her hair.

"Get a room," the disgusted voice came unexpectedly from the doorway. Nick quit sucking on Catherine's tongue.

"Oh my God, LINDSAY!" Catherine screamed and leapt off the bed. Sure enough, Lindsay Willows stood in the hall, backpack dragging behind. Catherine stepped into the hall, pulling the door closed behind her. "What the hell are you doing here?" she whispered angrily.

"Sorry, mom, my friend's dad broke his ankle," the teenager explained, meek under her mother's wrath.

"Lindsay, this is my private time, you should have called!" her mother admonished.

"Well, _sorry_," Lindsay spat out, her anger flaring up quickly. "I didn't know you wanted more time with your boy toy."

"Ugh," Catherine said disgustedly, "Alright, no computer and you're staying home with Grandma all weekend." Lindsay huffed. Her mother pointed, "Room, now!" Catherine turned on her heel and reentered her bedroom, shutting the door slightly too loud. Nick was in the bathroom so she waited on the bed.

She couldn't believe it, it seemed like she was always yelling at her daughter these days. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on them. She felt disgusted with herself. Nick opened the door and joined her on the bed. He rested a tentative hand lightly on one shoulder. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly. She sobbed. He twisted her chin to make her look at him.

"I'm a horrible parent," she sniffed, "I should have never let her see that, I shouldn't have yelled–" She sobbed again. Nick drew her into a hug and rested his chin on her silky hair.

"You couldn't have known," he said comfortingly.

"I know, you're right," Catherine admitted. She watched a single tear's progress as it dripped to her arm and rolled off to land on Nick's shirt flowering into a dark circle. "I just really wanted," she gestured between them, "'this'."

"Me too, Cath, me too," he whispered in her ear and he kissed the next tear as it welled up in the corner of her eye.

"This is just so frustrating!" she cried and whirled off to her walk in closet to change. He slid on the pair of pants and the shoes. He thought for a second, then his face pulled into a grin.

"Hey Catherine," Nick called, "How does breakfast sound?"

Her muffled reply came through the door, "It sound's like a veiled suggestion of driving somewhere then having wild sex in the backseat."

Nick smiled and approached the door to talk into the crack, "I was thinking more like bacon and eggs at the diner_ then _driving somewhere and having wild sex in the backseat." Catherine opened the door and swatted him with the sleeve of her jacket.

They both snuck down the hall and were almost to the door before a voice said, "Where are_ you_ going?"

Catherine spun around and said brightly, "Mom! Uh, hi! We're going to breakfast."

"Am I invited?"

Catherine and Nick exchanged red-faced glances.

"Oh, it's _that_ kind of breakfast," it dawned on her. Her mother winked. Catherine slammed the door behind them.

She rolled her eyes, "Ugh, mothers," she moaned.

Nick chuckled, "I think I like your mother." As she drove, they joked and teased but inside both of them, excitement was growing. 'It' was finally going to happen. They pulled into the diner, still laughing about the earlier "Grissom incident," and moments later slid into the usual booth. They didn't even need to look at the menus: several years of going to the same place for breakfast every Friday and they had it memorized. Almost immediately, the waitress took their orders and had disappeared into the kitchen.

Catherine felt Nick staring at her and she looked up to meet his gaze. Their depth took her breath away. In fact, he was memorizing her. He tried to commit to memory how she looked: her hair was golden with streaks of red, her eyes were almost crystalline, her lips looked so lush and how she smelled, her flowery perfume intoxicating even from his distance. But most of all, the fact that she was _his_. Catherine winked. "You like what you see?" she asked coyly.

Nick could only nod.

She switched conversation topics suddenly and said, "So, arson...who wants to burn your house down?"

Nick hardly missed a beat before saying, "Well, there was that creepy cable guy and a hell of a lot of other murderers, rapists, and their families, and two creepy ex-girlfriends, the daughter of the guy who buried me..."

Catherine gave a low whistle.

"...Grissom, so I'd have to come in to work more often..."

The joke fell flat. They were both worried about who was out to get him. The thing was, being a CSI didn't exactly make you the most popular person in town among people with criminal tendencies.

Catherine squeezed his hand gently.

They both tried to think of something else to say, but drew a blank. She uncrossed her legs and accidentally nudged his leg. He grinned and kicked her back. Soon enough, it turned into an electrifying game of Footsie under the table. Even the slight contact of her foot reminded him of touching the rest of her body. They were trying not to disturb other customers with their giggling when Catherine looked across the restaurant for a split second and noticed Warrick and Greg talking over coffee. She looked away hurriedly. The waitress arrived with perfect timing and set two plates of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of them. She slapped the check down next to it.

"Sorry," she muttered, "we're out of bread so just one serving." She indicated the piece of toast on Nick's plate.

"It's okay, Catherine doesn't mind," Nick joked.

Catherine punched him over the table. The waitress forced a laugh and shuffled away tiredly.

"Don't look now," Catherine said as the woman left and indicated their colleagues across the room. Nick obligingly looked and groaned as his eyes rested on their table.

"We shouldn't have come here," he said and smacked his forehead. Catherine grinned over the rim of her orange juice glass. She slid around the table to sit next to him and grabbed the piece of toast off his plate. He slapped her wrist but let her have it any way. She nibbled it daintily and took another sip of her juice. Nick studiously ignored both her and "the boys." He examined his bacon closely and ate it, concentrating on chewing.

She put her glass down and looked back at Greg and Warrick. They seemed to be reviewing a file folder. Probably the case from last shift. Her gaze returned to Nick. She gave her lips a quick once over with her tongue, setting his heart racing. He saw what she was going to do and he shook his head vigorously. With a mischievous grin, Catherine kissed him. Nick saw Warrick look up at that instant. Warrick's jaw dropped and he pointed at them, saying something unintelligible to Greg. Nick found himself kissing her back any way. He closed his eyes, shutting them out. "How's that?" she whispered. Then she slid away and sat back behind her plate. They could hear the boys gasp from their seats.

"Never gonna live that one down, are ya, Nicky," she teased. Indignantly, he put a forkful of eggs in to his mouth.

"I'm not going to answer that," he replied, furtively watching the other side of the room. Warrick was laughing and high-fiving Greg who looked shocked. Then, Greg fished money out of his pocket and handed it to– "Hey!" Nick protested and tried to stand up. Catherine grabbed him from across the table. They seemed to find this even more funny. Their guffaws were now audible. "Catherine," he growled.

"Relax," she said seductively, leaning in secretively, "I can make it all up to you."

"Do tell." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Let's go," Catherine urged. He wasn't about to resist. As they got up to leave, Catherine gave a little wave in Warrick and Greg's direction. Nick winked and mouthed, "Pay up!"

Catherine kissed him right below his earlobe as they walked to the car. Everything tingled. "I can't tell you how long I've wanted to do that," she told him. She kissed him there again. His knees threatened to give out. She kissed him again, this time on his earlobe, her tonge sneaking out. He wanted to collapse right there. Some how, they both climbed into the car. As soon as she sat down, he leaned in and brought their lips together, his tongue demanding entry. The world stopped. Lights were flashing, fire works were exploding. All they could feel was their desires becoming one. When they finally broke apart to breathe, they were both panting.

Catherine turned the engine over and the tires screeched as they shot out of the parking lot. She was doing a solid 10 miles per hour over the speed limit but she didn't care. It wasn't as if they were going to get pulled over any way. Nick's hand reached for the overhead siren but she jokingly swatted it down. Nick pretended to pout. She reached for the same hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing each finger. "There, better?" she asked.

"Where are we going?" Nick asked. Catherine was way ahead. She swerved into a deserted pullout that was infamous for it's "Lover's Lane" reputation. It was technically criminal to park here but neither of them cared. In an instant, they were both unbuckled and kissing, hands clutching desperately. The seats were all down in the back creating a large floor space.

Nick pulled her there and pinned her down, kissing and stroking, enjoying the smooth texture of her abdomen. Her eyes were pools of darkness filled with desire. Reverently, he slid her t-shirt off and ran his fingers down her body. Gently, he kissed both of her eyes, then her lips, then her chin.

He kissed down her neck and followed a small trail of peach fuzz down to her waist. He slid her pants down; sliding his fingers over her inner thighs and felt a rush as she rose up against his touch. She made a feral sound, similar to a growl. They kicked off their shoes and she reached for his belt-buckle. He attacked her mouth again, seeing stars as her fingers flitted over his now-bared back. She wrestled his pants off and for the second time in as many hours, she slid a finger under his waistband. He whimpered, begging her to touch him. She replied by pressing her chest to his.

Suddenly, they were wearing too much, going way too slow. He unclasped her bra and pulled it off. She tugged on his waistband. They were lost in pleasure.


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n: I am truly, desperately sorry for how long this took me. I know, I am a bad, bad person. Thanks to Dev for the (finally) beta, and I hope this sorta makes up for it.**

**Every Time I Look at You**

Her cheek rested on his bare chest, each breath caressing his bare skin. Both lay exhaustedly tangled, hearts slowing, on the Tahoe's roughly carpeted floor. Nick's arms wrapped protectively around her smooth waist and she shivered every hair on his arms flicked across her skin. "We really ought to go back to the house and call Grissom," he rumbled hoarsely.

She hummed into his chest. She was perfectly content to stay there, satisfied and safe, in his arms forever. He felt his eyelids flutter sleepily. "Come on," he said, and slid out from under her, "I have to see what's left of my house." He slid fluidly into his jeans and grabbed Catherine's bra. She leaned forward obligingly. The act of undressing was almost more exciting in reverse, as he slid the laced garment up her arms, giving her gooseflesh, and reached around her to fasten the hooks. His lips came so close she could not resist and her lips brushed his. He could taste himself on her, foreign yet familiar.

Nick's warm fingertips danced for a second on her shoulders. He pressed his lips to her sweet-smelling hair and slid her flowery shirt over her head.

Thirty minutes later, they rolled to a stop in front of what used to be Nick's house. He groaned as the wreckage met his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Nicky," Catherine said and patted him sympathetically. He thought of everything that had burned. The macaroni heart from his niece, the book with the phone numbers of everyone he knew, the baby pictures his mother had taken more than thirty years ago. An incredible sadness clutched his heart and squeezed its frozen talons. _It's just things,_ he told himself, _material possessions, things you can't take with you._ But it still wasn't right.

He didn't deserve this. He was there to "serve and protect" and how did he get thanked? His sanctuary, his place to hide from it all had been violated and destroyed. How easy it must have been, to spill some gasoline and flick a lighter. How much harder it was going to be to rebuild his life.

"Nick, can we go talk to Grissom?" Catherine's voice pulled him away from the dark pit he was heading for. He nodded and stepped out of the SUV. Catherine appeared beside him and took his hand.

"I'm going to be here for you, okay?" The flecks of silver in her eyes twinkled at him warmly. God, she was amazing.

He drew her into an embrace, "Okay," he murmured. She pressed her lips against his neck, burning there. If anything, with her around, he'd pull through. His relief and gratitude quickly turned to embarrassment when he saw who stood behind Catherine with arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked. She felt his muscles bunch and turned out of his arms.

"Hello, Gil," she said, rolling her eyes. Nick's ears were pink again. So were Grissom's. Both men examined their feet. Well, this was awkward.

Catherine smirked in amusement and began walking towards the yellow tape. Her heels clacked dully against the sidewalk. Nick and Grissom trailed behind, still looking at the ground. As the three drew nearer to the pile of ashes that had been the house, the scent of fire rose to meet them. It was a sharp, thick smell that caught in the lungs and stuck there like a heavy black fog. Nick could feel the soot on his tongue.

Grissom chose that moment to speak, "We found a rag soaked in kerosene in the basement last night and signs of forced entry. One of the windows was broken. Possible burglary, but can't tell for sure until we know what was there before." Catherine cringed and touched Nick's arm.

"Grissom," Nick said. The older man gave a start as if just realizing that the victim was someone he knew and was standing before him. Overhead, the sky darkened.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said, and left it at that. _So am I,_ Nick thought, _sorry for myself, sorry that it's all gone._

"Nicky, you look so sad that every time I look at you, I die a little inside."

His morose, chocolate eyes met hers. "I'm sorry, Cath," he sighed. A teardrop of rain splattered against the windshield.

"You shouldn't be. It was just stuff."

"It was more than 'stuff,' it was me, my life." He inwardly cursed himself for such self-pity. His disheveled brown hair curled around his ears. Her fingers itched to touch it.

"You haven't lost everything," she pointed out. He nodded and swallowed. He still had the most important thing— her. In a second, she was on his lap, cupping his cheeks in two cool palms. Their lips collided again, warm mouths connected. Her eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as quickly as her heart beat in her chest. More raindrops plunged down, down, from the deepening clouds over head. "Feeling better yet, Nicky?" she gasped between kisses. Her hands fingered his hair gently.

"Yes," he managed.

Her mouth tasted sweet. Breaths heaving, they gasped together in sudden animal need. Their tongues touched suddenly, eliciting a growl from both. Her eyes were lakes again.

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his tightening pants then froze as a hand trickled down his neck. Almost frantically, he tore off Catherine's shirt and stroked her bared skin. Lips pressed against writhing flesh. That was when he noticed the knuckle poised to tap on the glass. _Shit. _They were in Catherine's driveway!

She felt him tense, and fear shot through her. She looked up, and met her mother's disapproving eyes. _"_Dammit," she said.

"Yeah," Nick agreed, "dammit." His mouth hung open in dumbfounded surprise, eyebrows knitted. The older woman slipped back inside the house and slammed the door, making the couple wince. Rain slid against the windows and darkened the pavement. Catherine slid off his lap, back into the driver's seat. He handed her the shirt, without making eye contact.

"Why does this always happen? Why can't we control ourselves long enough to wait until we're alone?" she asked, voice wavering. Nick had no answer. It was almost more instinctual than anything. Like two magnets, if close enough, they could not be kept apart.

She took a second to fluff her hair and then, together they dashed through the rain to her front door. "Are you ready for this?" she asked, meeting his eyes levelly.

He sighed. "Ready as ever."

They opened the door to find her mother collapsed on the floor laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fiery Distractions**

He had his lips pressed against her neck, in the hollow at her collar bone, and was flicking his tongue in the way he had learned made her shiver, when the phone rang. He disengaged** sadly removed** his lips from her shoulder to her great disappointment. "Not _again_," Catherine groaned and **she **hurried across the living room to the table where the phone cried, leaving Nick empty-armed and waiting on the couch. There was something distinctly odd, she decided, about answering a phone call from your colleague with flushed cheeks and a heat pooling in your belly. At least she was still dressed this time.

She rolled her eyes at Nick. He was bouncing up and down, slightly, on one of the couch cushions— brimming with bottled energy and looking a little pained. Thank God they'd managed to get her mother out of the house. Otherwise, Nick'd be looking like a lovesick and hungry puppy the rest of the night. "Catherine? Catherine? Hello?" Oh. Gil. Right.

"Sorry, I got distracted." She could almost hear the man blush. "No! Not like that!" Nick guffawed. On the other end, she heard a giggle. Woa, woa, woa, a giggle? "Gil, is there a _woman_ there? Who is it? Sara?" Nick was wiping away tears of laughter at her expression that was something between exasperation and acceptance.

After a pause, in which she faintly overheard Grissom telling someone playfully to be quiet," the man answered, "I don't ask questions, neither will you. I called because we found some more evidence at the crime sc—I mean, at Nick's house. A Styrofoam cup. Guess whose DNA we found in it?"

She took a deep breath of air but was not calmed. All she could smell was Nick. Nick, Nick, Nick. His sweat, his shampoo, all of him in _her_ house. And he was in danger. Again. Before she could say anything, Grissom spoke again.

"I want you guys to come in and see the other thing we found."

"Now?" _Please not now_, she thought, _we're busy_. There was also the problem of that nagging warmth in the pit of her stomach as Nick watched her with smoldering eyes.

"Yes, now."

"We…_I_ had some, er, plans."

"Tell Nick he's going to have to hold it in for a few more hours. Meet me at CSI." And he hung up. Damn him. Slowly, Catherine set the phone back in its cradle and nodded her head in the direction of the driveway.

"Let's get this over with," he said on a sigh.

---

Of course, both Sara and Grissom were late meeting them. The lab was almost entirely empty save a few lab techs watching centrifuges hum with drooping eyelids. This left time for Catherine and Nick to talk alone in the break room but not much else. When the other two finally showed, both of them were flushed and smiling. Catherine gasped in envy and disbelief. Nick, rocking back in one of the plastic chairs, made a disapproving noise of agreement.

"Time management," the brunette said and shrugged. Nick and Catherine both groaned.

"Can we just do this please?"

Gil gave a smug half smile. Still fuming and aching for Nick, Catherine didn't miss the hot exchange of furtive glances between the other couple. Of course. Everyone had already guessed anyway. Sara smirked and set the box she was holding on the table. "So," Gil began, choosing his words carefully this time. No one ever said the man didn't learn fast. "I already told Catherine about the Styrofoam cup we recovered in the backyard. DNA results just came back."

"That fast?" Catherine crinkled her forehead in puzzlement.

"We got Greg to agree to come in for a rush, just for Nick," Sara explained and patted Nick's shoulder.

"And?" A pair of brown eyes looked up at her questioningly. Catherine hadn't told him, she couldn't bear to put more hurt in those soulful eyes, not yet. Grissom quirked an eyebrow but didn't call Catherine on her judgment.

"The epithelial sample matched Kelly Gordon's." The gasp from Nick was audible.

"Damn," he whispered, trying to hide the slight quickening of his heart. Catherine felt it too and wanted desperately to hold him and let him know he'd be okay. The florescent light overhead flickered on and off weakly, casting an eerie glow over all of them.

"We're probably going to be able to find her prints somewhere, too. I'm so sorry Nick."

It was hard for him to hear. **Nick had hoped-- hell, believed, that Kelly would move on after prison. **Move to something better and start anew. Maybe she was holding a grudge after all.

Sara's voice brought him back. "We have one last thing for you then you guys can…go." A pointed look was shared between Grissom and Sara. Then, with her back away from the other couple, Sara rustled through the box she had been holding and pulled out a square of paper in an evidence bag. "I should warn you," she said, pulling the bag out of Nick's reach, "this might make you cry." And she held out the bag once again. It contained a slightly singed photograph.

Catherine peered over his shoulder. Her hair, smelling of strawberries, tickled Nick's cheek, but he hardly noticed. In the picture, she could recognize his parents even without the wrinkles and creases for they radiated the same gentle love as always. Between them, they supported a laughing toddler with a shock of dark brown hair and wearing blue footie pajamas covered in spotted horses.

Nick felt his breath catch in his throat. Okay, he was not going to cry. He refused to cry. That would definitely not be manly. "And where are the rest? This was in an album."

A look that could definitely be called reluctant crossed Grissom's face. Hadn't Nick had enough?

Maybe not quite enough.

"Come on Grissom, I gotta know."

"We can't show you the other pictures because someone drew red x's through all the pictures of you."

---

As he pushed her to the bed, he tried desperately to forget everything. To let his mind go blank. Roughly, he tore away her lacy panties. They were both panting His mouth assailed hers in violent kisses that were almost bruising. He knew he was being rough, should treat her carefully, but she didn't stop him. Light, hot fingers played with his shirt buttons, teasing him and making him gasp.

His jeans were painfully tight. Catherine bucked her hips up and her pelvis jarred electrifyingly against his. His thumbs brushed her nipples gently through her bra.

"Come on," Cath urged, voice husky.

He didn't protest.


End file.
